


Sarah

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: The Witness Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Gen, Season 7 Spoilers, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, a beautiful, privileged young woman met two brothers who showed her what lay hidden in the dark. Her life changed, the brothers nothing but a memory, Sarah Blake made a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diana

**Author's Note:**

> The first in a series of short stories about those memorable one-shot characters whose lives changed forever when they met the Winchester brothers. They are all witnesses to the supernatural, witnesses who survived to tell their stories if anyone were open-minded enough to believe.
> 
> I’ve started watching SPN again from the Pilot and started thinking about all the people Sam and Dean have left in their wake over the years. What happened after the screen went black? We know most hunters got in the game when they witnessed the supernatural usually after the death of a loved one like John and Bobby. My thought was how would each of these characters react afterward. Would they move on with their lives as if nothing happened? Or would they find the need to step through that door and never look back? This is my take on what happened after the screen went black.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Diana Ballard always considered herself a strong-willed, logical female fighting for respect in a man’s world until a single case forced her to see past the veil and into the eyes of the supernatural. Six years later, she’s on a mission to protect and serve in a world she’d never imagined in her youth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes, in this series I recognize the year that never was so the SPN universe is one year ahead of our world.

At fifty-two, Diana Ballard was starting to think she was too goddamn old for this shit even though she was still in decent shape. Hopping a fence or chasing a perp up six flights of stairs was no big deal, all in a day’s work as a young officer with the Baltimore PD. She never batted a fucking eye, but then life was full of surprises wasn’t it?

Six years ago, she’d been working Homicide, had a nice home, a great guy, and the respect she’d fought for her entire life. Then the Winchesters had strolled into her world and everything went to hell in a hand basket. She discovered things she’d never wanted to the worst being she’d been a fool for love and it left her with embarrassment and anger in spades. She ended up lying through her teeth when confronted with the fallout from her partner, Pete Sheridan, trying to set-up the Winchester brothers for the very murders he’d committed. There was no way around the lies, her superiors would have never believed Pete's first victim, Claire Becker, had reached out from the grave to warn his next victims—including Diana herself.

For a year she’d tried to hang on to the crumbling remains of her career, her life, but eventually she’d been unable to stand the whispers behind her back. Some of her fellow officers believed she had been involved, killed Pete, and then hung her dead partner out to dry. Others believed she was innocent of being involved with the murders, but couldn’t understand how she’d been blind to Pete’s extracurricular activities.

Once stained always stained, she realized. That was when she put in her resignation and walked away from the career she’d sacrificed so much to achieve. She’d sold the old brownstone she’d inherited from her parents, cashed in her 401K, and emptied her bank accounts, leaving Baltimore behind her in a cloud of dust. Even leaving the force didn’t change who she was—she was a cop period. Being a cop was who she was from the moment she’d taken her first breath. It ran in her blood, nothing could change that.

Today, she was feeling the burn of her choices. Somewhere in Southern Indiana, setting in a dusty roadhouse, lost amid the cornfields former homicide detective Diana Ballard nursed a whiskey. Her ribcage ached like a son of bitch from her latest adventure last night and she cursed the day she’d met the Winchesters.

“Another whiskey, lady?”

Glancing up from her bruised knuckles into the old bartender’s rheumy eyes, she chuckled, and slid the glass across the scarred wood, “Sounds good.”

He poured her another two fingers and glanced around the dark interior. Business was damn slow for a Friday although it was early yet. “You mind some company?” he asked as he slid her glass back.

Diana considered his request for all of two seconds. If there was one thing she missed about her former life was the people. Doing what she did now conversations were few and far in between. “Sure thing…” she paused realizing she didn’t know his name.

“Deacon.” he offered as he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a drink. “It’s a might bit busier up in here most nights, but with everything that’s been going on lately and the storm I’m thinking we’ll have the bar to ourselves tonight.”

That was fine by Diana. Last thing she needed was to put some young cowboy in his place when he decided to do a bit of cougar hunting. She was damned sure Deacon had his sights set on whiskey rather than a quick roll in the hay.

Taking a sip of her drink, she focused on the front window, watching as the clouds burst and the world darkened into a waterfall of rain. In the distance, there was a flash of lightning and she caught herself counting down until the rumble of thunder vibrated the walls of bar. The eye of the storm was around fifteen miles away.

“You’re one of them—ain’t you?”

Deacon’s question snapped her from her thoughts. “Excuse me?”

The elderly bartender tossed back his whiskey and refilled the glass with an ease born of years before he grinned at her. “Every once and a blue moon one of them comes in. Most times, they come in pairs. I’ve got an eye for spotting you folks.”

“I’m sure I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” She focused her attention on the glass cradled between her hands, the light above the bar reflected in the amber liquid.

Deacon snorted. “They call themselves hunters, but they ain’t aiming for deer or rabbit. They’re hunting something completely different. You have that same world-weary look in your eyes as they all do.”

Strange, she thought. She’d never really considered herself a hunter of anything. Sam and Dean were the hunters. She was more a dabbler if anything. Yes, she’d done some jobs here and there over the past six years, but most days she kept to herself.

“Few years back there was a mess in New Harmony. Local cops didn’t have a clue what it was all about and it’s a cold case now. Few folks died from stabbing, a family there lost their grandfather, the babysitter, and I think there might have been a grandmother too, not sure to be honest. Massive amounts of blood and at least one unidentified body. A couple of folks in the neighborhood said there was an explosion although there was no sign other than their story of a bright white light coming from one of the houses.”

Diana sucked in a deep breath and tossed back the remainder of the whiskey. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Yep,” Deacon agreed. “Speaking of strange, up north there were a few folks disappeared a few days ago. There were some reports of bright flashes of white light outside the state hospital up there the same night those folks vanished. And then there was that thing with the two patients the same night as well.”

“Two patients?” she pushed her glass over for a refill.

He tipped the bottle filling it to the rim this time. “There was a young man brought in a few nights before after he was hit by a car. He ended up vanishing that night as well, but another man appeared in his place. Doctors of course tried to keep the whole damn thing quite, but news travels fast.”

Diana swallowed down half the whiskey without a word then tried to rub away the dull ache forming in her temple. She’d been hoping to find nothing when she cruised into Indiana a few days ago. The only reason she’d come was because of the nightmare. She’d been down south, the outskirts of New Orleans when she’d decided to take some time for herself having taken down a chupacabra in east Texas.

Every since she’d witnessed Claire Becker’s ghost (Sam called her a death omen) back in Baltimore she’d started having some seriously fucked up nightmares. It was rare she got a full night’s sleep and if years of the shit had taught her anything, they always happened for a damn good reason. This one had made her gut twitch and two familiar faces appeared; Sam and Dean the brothers who she’d pursued all those years ago. They were older but it was the brothers without a doubt.

And then there had been the stranger, eyes blue as polished sapphires, and opalescent light surrounding him. Looking into that light had been like staring straight into the noonday sun without going blind. There was something about the stranger in her dream, something that had the hair at the base of her skull rising. It was the same feeling she used to get when she looked into the eyes of a murderer who tried to hide the truth of what they were. She’d always had a gift for seeing past the masks people wore, it was what had made her such a damn good cop.

“You okay?”

Diana hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to say. From what she’d gathered over the years hunters did what they did and they didn’t fucking talk about it. Even so this Deacon seemed to know about them.

“These people you were talking about; the ones who call themselves hunters. What is it you suppose they're hunting?”

Deacon grinned around the rim of his glass, tossing back the remaining whiskey. “I suppose they’re hunting things most folks don’t believe in.”

“Like what?” she demanded as she met his amused gaze.

“I reckon you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He reached for the bottle again to refill their glasses. “Considering I’m damn sure you’re the one who exorcized that demon last night over in Orange County.”

Every muscle in her body stiffened. There was only one way the bartender could know that and it sure in the hell wasn’t good. She was off the stool and ten feet away, gun pulled, and heart pounding when his eyes went black as pitch.

“Now, Diana, we both know that ain’t going to do you no good. Besides, if I wanted you dead you’d already be bleeding out on the floor.”

“Then what do you want?” she spit out.

Deacon shrugged. “Some peace and quiet for starters would be nice.”

The laughter rolled out of Diana before she could stop herself, “Peace and quiet? You expect me to believe that’s all you want?”

“I said for starters, but then a hunter like you would never understand.”

“Understand what?” her eyes narrowed.

His eyes changed from black to human in a split-second. “Not all demons are out to kill or seduce humans.” He paused taking a swig of whiskey from the glass on the bar. “Ones like me were human once, dumb ass humans, but human nevertheless. We sold our souls without a thought and then found ourselves in Hell and trust me, lady…Hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I imagine not.”

Deacon chuckled. “Few years back a Devil’s Gate was opened and any demon that had a lick of sense made a run for it. All I wanted was a second chance. Wanted to finish the life I’d sold without so much as hi, bye, or kiss my ass to some stinking crossroad bitch who flashed some tit.”

She wasn’t buying this. As a cop she’d heard every excuse in the world for every sin available; rape, murder, drugs, you named it and she’d heard it. “What about the poor fool you’re possessing?”

“He agreed to it.” He raised one snowy eyebrow. “You see Deacon here had pretty much wasted his life, pushed every damn soul away who ever cared, and then he found out he was dying—lung cancer. He figured what the hell. I keep him walking and talking and in return he gave me a second chance.”

Diana had heard and seen more than she’d ever cared to at this point. Maybe he wasn’t lying then again—

“So, I can walk right out of here and you won’t try anything.”

“Nope, not one damn thing, sweetheart.” He grinned causing every hair to prick up on her body. “There is one condition before I agree though.”

There it was, she thought, demons and their black-hearted ways, not much different from a common criminal on the street. They all wanted something and there was always a price for it. “What makes you think I’d ever deal with a black-eyed son of a bitch?”

“Not a deal.”

“Then what?”

Deacon sighed, shoulders slumping and she could almost see the man, not the demon. “That story I told you—about the state hospital—the two men that switched places.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“One of them was a hunter. I’m thinking you might just know him—Sam Winchester.”

A shiver slid over her skin. “What if I did?”

“I don’t have much time before that blow hard crossroad demon who took over Hell finds out what happened. Let’s just say the boy was dying until the other man saved him. Of course, the man they have now ain’t any old man—he’s a god damn angel.”

Diana swallowed hard. An angel? She’d heard a few stories from hunters in passing about supposed angels walking the earth. She’d wondered if they were true, but looking in Deacon’s eyes—demon or no demon—she believed him.

“There’s a demon, goes by the name of Meg Masters. She’s keeping an eye on the angel they have up there for the Winchester boys. You see he ain’t in any shape to take care of himself after what he did.”

“Why would the Winchesters deal with a demon?”

Deacon grinned again and Diana’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “You’d be surprised what those two boys have done in the name of salvation. Lucifer knows I was. Thing being is she’s in the same boat as them in a manner of speaking. Last thing any of us need is that crossroad’s bastard getting his hands on this angel. Meg will fill you in when you get up there. Just tell her old Deacon sent you as back-up.”

“You want me to go help another demon keep an eye on an angel?”

He nodded.

“And if I don’t?”

His eyes flashed black. “You don’t want to know.”

Well, talk about stuck between a rock and a hard place, she thought. “Fine I’ll do it.”

“I didn’t think you’d say no, Diana. You ain’t like most hunters.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled as he poured another glass. “You knew what was coming before you got here. I imagine its cause you’re a living witness.”

“What does that mean?”

“Most witnesses end up dead after they’ve wandered into our world. Some become straightforward hunters. Then there are those special few who open up to the things all humans could do at one time. You’re a dreamer. You see things in your dreams and they guide you to where you need to be.”

“How the hell…?”

He glanced toward the window, fingering the rim of his glass. “Crowley’s coming so you need to be going.”

The door of the roadhouse opened and Diana glance at it. “That’s it? What do you want in return?”

“Just keep an eye out for that angel. You don’t want Crowley to get to him. Cause if he does we’ll all regret it—human and demon alike.”

She slowly backed toward the door, gun’s aim steady and true. “You got it, but if I see you again I’ll exorcize you so fast…”

“You won’t see me.”

As she reached the door, the steady rain seemed to evaporate into nothing but mist. She stepped through and ran for her truck. Behind her, she could hear Deacon’s voice drift from the bar on the wind.

“His name is Castiel.”


	2. Lucas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one had understood. How could they? Watching his father die at the hands of what amounted to a monster lurking beneath the water had terrified him into silence. Then the man had come and Lucas had known he understood from the expression in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes, in this series I recognize the year that never was so the SPN universe is one year ahead of our world. Also, I could find no mention of how old Lucas Barr was in Dead in the Water so I’m guessing he was around ten using my BFF’s boy as a measuring stick. So I guess you might consider this AU from canon.

When it came time to leave for college, Lucas Barr knew it would be harder than anything he’d ever done. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t experienced difficult things in his short life, nearly eight years before he’d witnessed the death of his father, and for a time he understood what true terror could do to a boy.

At seventeen, Lucas little resembled the small boy rescued from the center of Lake Manitoc all those years before. He stood nearly six feet, taller than his mother Andrea and his body was slim yet nothing but solid muscle. The only thing that remained was his shocking red hair, a gift from his long dead father and the freckles he’d come to hate (on occasion) that dusted the bridge of his nose.

The one thing he did know was no matter how protective his mother was she would never be able to keep him safe one hundred percent. Part of the reason he knew this was the man. When his father had died some part of him realized no one would believe what he’d seen, even after the police were unable to recover Chris Barr from the water. After his father’s death, Lucas began to have what he knew now were visions, but then had believed were dreams. The man, his name was Dean, seemed to get what Lucas had gone through more than his own family did and he assured Lucas no matter what he said he would be believed.

Dean hadn’t lied and neither had his brother, despite never truly speaking to Lucas, he’d had the same understanding gleam in his eyes. He owed them both a great deal and as he sat outside the bus depot in the harsh summer heat, nervous mother at his side he wondered if he would ever see them again.

“Lucas, are you scared?” his mother asked.

What she really meant was ‘I’m terrified, don’t go. I can’t protect you if I’m not there.’

He leaned in head resting on his mom’s shoulder and grinned, peering up through shaggy hair. “It’s okay to be scared, Mom.”

Rolling her eyes, she shifted on the hard bench, forcing him to set up and look into her eyes. They sat quietly staring at one another for a few seconds and then she pulled him into her arms, remembering what it was like the day she and Chris had brought him home from the hospital. Lucas rubbed her back, taking in the clean fresh scent of her perfume, something light and citrusy he associated only with her.

“Don’t cry, Mom.” He whispered in her ear. “I’ll be fine. You raised a smart kid, a strong one, too.”

He could feel the laughter vibrate through her as she squeezed him harder before pulling back, slim fingers gripping his shoulders. “I know you’re smart, sweetie, but I still…”

As her words trailed off, he saw the memories of that horrible year rise in her eyes. He’d lost his father true, but his mom had lost so much more. She’d lost her husband and then watched her own father wade out into the lake, claimed by the spirit of a long dead boy. Neither of their bodies found, two empty coffins lowered in the ground, in memory. Even after they drained the lake, there had been no sign of them or the other victims. Soon after, they’d moved to a small land-locked town where the biggest body of water was the town’s public pool. He was all she had left and he understood more than she would ever know how that felt.

She was all he had as well.

Leaning in, Lucas pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek with a smile. “There’s my bus, Mom.” He tried not to notice the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he felt his throat close up. “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’ll go by quicker than you realize.”

Andrea nodded and stood as the bus to Boston came to a halt, people tumbling out of the depot to board. “I couldn’t have asked for a better son. You do know I love you—right? That I’m proud of you?”

“Yeah, I do.” He pushed up, shifting the backpack over one shoulder and wrapping his free arm around his mother as they headed to the bus.

Letting a child go for the first time was the most difficult thing for a parent to do, but then Andrea wasn’t simply any parent. In the years following their run in with the Winchesters, she’d known things no parent should know. There was always salt in the house, a canister in every room, and there were nightlights scattered throughout the house so the shadows never grew too dark. Andrea slept with both an iron poker and a loaded shotgun within reach. From every window crystals and dream catchers spun.

Lucas’ friends at school were fascinated with the oddities as most kids were. He never bothered explaining—would they’ve even believed him?—because he knew kids were simply kids. Eventually, their fascination had faded and life continued. There was one kid though, a girl, that never lost her fascination with those oddities. Heather was an oddity herself, just as Lucas felt he was. In the end they’d become best friends and Lucas told her the story of how his father and grandfather died. He told her about Sam and Dean, how Dean had been the only one willing to listen to a traumatized kid even if the only thing he spoke in was crayon. He also told her things he’d never told his mother.

Boarding the bus, he took a seat and waved at his mother from the window. Through the dusty glass, he could see the tears she’d waited to shed, cheeks shining with salty trails. His mother’s obsession with keeping him safe was the reason he never told her the truth. The truth would have simply frightened her, complicated matters between them, and he never wanted to see the fear in her eyes again he’d witnessed the night she’d nearly been drowned by the spirit that had claimed his father.

As the engine came to life, bus pulling out onto the street, Lucas reached in his backpack and pulled out a thick leather bound journal along with a ballpoint. He’d started keeping the journal shortly after they’d moved and had gone to extreme lengths to keep it hidden from his mom. There were few words in its pages. What filled the pages were drawings, the visions of a kid haunted by the past, present, and future. Somehow, when he’d witnessed his father’s death, his mind had opened to the impossible. It hadn’t been just the vengeful spirit of Peter Sweeny talking to him. He could see it all now.

No matter where Lucas was he could see those who were lost to the darkness, the ones most people ignored. The pages filled slowly at first, but soon he’d started drawing faster each new sketch greater in detail than the next. Only Heather had known and she’d still liked him, didn’t think him crazy or twisted. The scariest one he’d drawn was the old abandoned convent when he was fourteen; a spiraling thorny vine of what he knew was blood on the cold stone of the chapel inside. Dean had been in that vision along with his brother. Sam had been different, eyes black as ink.

Lucas hadn’t slept a wink for three nights afterward. When he’d heard about a supposed terrorist bombing in Ilchester, Maryland, he knew they were wrong. Sam had released something bad and the year that followed, the drawings had continued coming each more horrifying than the next. Then they stopped. There had been nothing the year after, well nothing as horrible as after the convent, but he knew something huge had happened.

Telling his mother wasn’t acceptable, so he’d relied more and more on Heather. Then one day he realized he was in love with his best friend. The last time he’d spoke to Heather was to text her with his arrival time in Boston. She’d graduated mid-term and entered college in January, Heather was the only reason his mom had agreed to allow him to attend Mass Art. At least with Heather there he knew someone; he’d have someone to turn to when she wasn’t there.

Staring out the window, he popped the cap of the ballpoint and began to draw, eyes never on the page in his lap. His hand moved quicker than seemed humanly possible, creating lines and shadow with the proficiency of a master. After an hour, the pen dropped from his cramped fingers and he looked down into a familiar face—Dean. He was standing on a hill staring down at another figure. This one seemed to be reaching out to one of the dark shadows standing in front of a building. Surrounding the figure Dean was staring at was another figure blurry and yet…

Lucas sucked in a deep breath, whispering the words etched at the bottom of the page. It was impossible, but the drawings never lied. “Castiel lives.”

Seconds later, he was texting Heather, journal hidden away again. She would never believe what was coming and he wondered if Dean already knew. What was more important though was if Dean, the man who’d saved his life so long ago, would forgive the angel who’d pulled him from Perdition. 


End file.
